Defiance
by Silindro
Summary: Oneshot. A night out on the town with Han ends up in the bar. Whatever was in that bottle was having far too much of an effect on Leia's stomach... HSLO


That's right, it's another alcohol-fic. Gotta do one for every verse in which I write.

Standard disclaimers apply.

Defiance---

Had anyone told me that the aftermath of the destruction of the Empire would find me walking into a cheap bar on the lowest levels of Coruscant, I would have called them a liar and promptly laughed in their face. No way would Alderaanian royalty lower themselves to the level of thieves and smugglers for a good time.

Of course, no one took into consideration that my husband _was_ a thief and a smuggler, and therefore my kind of people.

Upon walking into the bar I found my senses assaulted by an array of sights and sounds and horrid smells. There was a cloud of heavy smoke that hung in the air, blocking my view of the back of the room and obstructing my airway enough to send me into a mini coughing fit.

"Now you're sure about this?" he asked into my ear.

"Absolutely," I replied. "No going back."

Grinning like the occasional idiot he is, Han put a guiding hand on the small of my back and led me toward the bar.

"_What'll you have_?" the bartender clicked out in some foreign dialogue.

"We'll have a bottle of that," Han pointed toward the shelf behind the tall, lanky humanoid creature. The bottle was blue and black with strange symbols engraved into the glass.

The bartender handed Han the liquor in exchange for money and we made our way to an empty table back toward the far wall.

"It's really crowded in here," I commented as I took my seat.

"Not too bad," Han replied as he looked around. He reached a hand into his jacket, obviously feeling for his blaster. It never left his side when out in public. I asked him once why that was and he gave me a look and asked how much I valued my life.

Overprotective, you might say, but I don't mind it. I'm a target for murderous plots and schemes. There have been three attempts on my life in the last four years.

I can hold my own, though, as I have proven on many occasions that he seems to keep forgetting.

"Hey, can we get a couple of glasses?" he asks a waitress as she passes our table. Nodding, she fished some small tube-shaped beakers out of her apron.

"Now," Han said with a lopsided grin, "The rules of the game…"

"…so Lando was standing there wearing _no pants_. I turned around but the damage had already been done!"

Woo my head feels funny after all those drinks. Han's face has been swimming in and out of focus for about ten minutes now, and it's making me nauseous just looking at him. He doesn't seem to be too affected by the liquor, but he's a pro at all this, so that's no surprise.

"You feeling okay, Princess?" he asks, reaching across the table to take the glass from my hand. It's been empty for a while now, but I've been playing with it since the last drop vanished.

"My eyes won't stop moving," I confess to him, watching his face move from left to right and in some weird circle formation.

"That's what happens when you've had too much to drink," he offers.

"Or maybe just enough," I giggle. But I don't giggle. Ever.

"When was the last time you had a drink?"

Pausing, my mind begins to scan its dusty depths for long-gone memories of happier, more Alderaanian times.

"Well I had a couple of glasses of wine at the Ambassador's homecoming celebration back when I was sixteen," I answered.

"That's it?"

There's a look of mock-horror on his face, almost like I should tell him that I'm a closet alcoholic and keep a bottle of brandy tucked under my mattress at night. Yeah right, that'll happen.

"Unlike you, General, I am certainly not a- a-"

My stomach begins to gurgle slightly and I feel like the dizziness is starting to really take effect.

"You going to be sick?" he asks, half standing in concern.

"No," I answer. "No, I'll be fine."

Somehow I don't' believe that, but I need to say it out loud. I don't know why, I just do.

The nauseous feeling settled heavily in the pit of my stomach. In an attempt to keep the liquor and the remaining parts of my dinner in my stomach I decided that not talking for a while would be a good idea. Laying my head against the cool surface of the table was an even better one, and one that had Han's fingers running languidly through my hair.

"Keep that up and you're gonna put me to sleep," I commented drowsily.

Han's fingers retracted themselves quickly, making me wonder what had caused him to stop so suddenly. Surely me falling asleep isn't _that_ big of a problem. Looking up, I could see what was going on.

"Here comes trouble," he said with an annoyed sigh.

Walking from the bar was a very large, very green creature that didn't look unlike Jabba the Hut in many ways. But this guy had legs. Jabba only had a tail and a plethora of cronies that supported him. It was quickly apparent that this guy also had a blaster, though much smaller than Han's.

"He's got a blaster," I slightly slurred out.

"I see it."

The thing's heavy boots stomped loudly on the floor as it made its way over to our table. The clanking of chains and belts and other unidentifiable accessories accompanied, but all of that stopped the second it stood next to where we were seated.

It hissed out something in its native tongue.

It was an odd language that I had never heard and for Han it seemed the same. Someone nearby understood that we didn't understand, and explained the problem to the 'thing'. Whatever it was. Is.

"You're in my seat," he hissed out in something more understandable. "Move."

"No, I don't think we will," Han answered, his hand sneaking up into his jacket. "We were sitting here before you."

"You'll be sitting dead on that floor if you don't get up!"

Standing up was too much of a task with as dizzy and as horribly sick as I felt. So in the best interests of everyone within a ten-foot-radius, staying seated was the best idea. Let Han do the fighting, he's quite used to defending me anyway.

"Take your ugly face and your ugly woman out that door!"

In the years that I have known Han Solo it has become very apparent that there are only two things someone can say that will really get under his skin: someone insulting his looks, and someone insulting _me_.

This guy really did have a death wish.

"Han," I said, putting a steady hand on his arm. "Forget it, let's just-"

Uh oh, stomach doing flips. This isn't good…

"Leia?"

Yeah, that's a whole lot of throwing up. And all over that beastly creature's shiny black shoes. He doesn't look too happy. No, I think it's a good time to leave.

"You said you weren't going to get sick."

"The occasion called for it," I replied.

Looking over my shoulder I could see whatever that thing was shaking off his shoes. He was angry, but apparently my powers of timing and repulsion were far too great for his feeble little mind.

"You'll need a shower when we get home," Han suggested, leading me out the door.

I was leaning heavily on his arm as the city around me began to tilt sideways.

"A shower, that sounds nice. Then maybe some sex."

"You're not gonna feel like sex tonight, Princess."

"I don't feel like a lot of things right now, especially more alcohol. Whatever was in that bottle should be limited to non-human consumers only."

"It's illegal on some planets."

"And you gave it to _me_?"

Feeling decidedly more world-weary, I buried my face into my husband's side and continued the long walk home.

A/N: Alright, first attempt at SW fic over and done.

Now onto the criticism. I didn't use specific names for anything, really, only because I'm not so versed in SW that I won't sound like an idiot. Someone out there needs to get on AIM and message me to help me out. I have a few plot ideas that need some serious work.

Never really done anything in first person point of view, so I was really weirded out by the whole thing. I know some parts were hard to read, but it'll all get better in time.

Anyway, hate it or love it, review it.

It's a fanfiction sin to read without reviewing.


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